


Stuck

by Embarassedbutkinky



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Forbidden, Ghost Sex, Love, Moving On, Nonverbal Communication, Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 02:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embarassedbutkinky/pseuds/Embarassedbutkinky
Summary: Vegeta haunted the same apartment for years before Bulma moved in. Now she is all that he focuses on, and he just wishes he could touch her. One shot.





	Stuck

Vegeta hated when she went to work. It reminded him of before she moved in; of the days upon days of just staring blankly at the wall because, what else was there? No… this was still better, he supposed. Now there was life happening around him.

It took about an hour to muster the strength to turn on the television. She usually left it on, but she hadn't this morning. He didn't care for the soap opera that was on, but he wouldn't be able to change it without a lot of effort. At least bad acting was better than silence.

He wandered into the kitchen and managed to pull the door to the fridge open after some concentration. He wanted to check what she had eaten for dinner last night. It wasn't sensational news, but it was a habit. He bitterly remembered when he used to read the paper every morning. He couldn't do that now.

He hadn't seen what she was up to the night before. He wasn't always conscious. Sometimes, after a lot of effort, he sort of… blinked out. He wasn't sure where he went. Before he started watching her, he hadn't even noticed the lost time. Now he ran on her schedule, and he noticed when there was an hour missing. She was the only hobby he had.

They'd never met in life, but he wished they had. At first he'd hated the idea of some foolish woman moving into his apartment. He  _ did _ still think of it as his at the time, death notwithstanding. He'd pouted for days, wishing she could see him or feel how unwelcome she was. Eventually he realized that he needed her here. When she lived in the apartment, it had life. Movement. Electricity,  _ literally _ . He'd missed television.

The meat she was marinating was gone, she must have had steak last night. She liked potatoes with steak, and he didn't even bother looking to see if she'd baked a few. One quarter of a wine bottle was gone. She didn't drink often, she must be stressed.

“You're a fucking stalker,” he sighed to himself. He talked to himself a lot lately.

He went to check the dryer. Sometimes she forgot to turn it in when she put wet clothes in it, and he figured he might be able to start it for her. Nope. No laundry today.

This was his daily routine. See how many pages she'd read in her book the night before. Test her smoke detectors. Check on her life. Wonder what she was doing at work.

It was 11AM in the morning, and he was already bored.

He lounged on the couch and watched the bad soap for a few hours, pretending to eat a pizza. He missed pizza.

One in the afternoon was training time. He'd let himself go when he died. Not physically, that was true. He looked exactly the same as the day he died on the few occasions he'd managed to manifest in the mirror. It took effort to do things like that, though. Touching things, moving things, seeing himself in the mirror. If he concentrated and exercised by moving things across the coffee table, he got better at it slowly. He'd definitely made progress over the last two years.

The clock ticked ever onward to 5PM, the end of her shift. By 5:20 he stood by the window, trying to peer through the blinds. She'd be home soon, and he could live through her actions.

5:30.

6PM.

He stood with his arms crossed, getting more and more angry. Where was she? She should have been home by now. If her jerk of a boss made her stay late again he'd… do nothing. He'd listen to her complain about it on the phone.

7PM.

8PM.

No. What if something had happened to her? She couldn't be dead. If she was dead, it'd be like he died  _ again _ . He didn't want to get to know a new occupant. He liked her. If something terrible happened to her, at the very least let it happen  _ here _ . Then he wouldn't be alone.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he muttered to himself. He didn't want that. He didn't want her dead, even if it meant having company forever. He'd never wish this existence on anyone, let alone her.

He saw her little blue car pull up in the driveway and tried not to feel like her dog barking excitedly at the window. He smiled slightly and he felt his heart speed up, knowing it was just a phantom feeling. His heart couldn't race anymore, even for her.

Another car pulled in behind her.

His smile faded.

Who was that? Not her mother, the old lady drove a green sedan, not a big white truck. Her friend Chichi? No, Chichi couldn't drive to his knowledge, the last time he'd heard her on the phone they hadn't mentioned her getting a license. A man stepped out of the truck, and rushed forward, trying to open her driver door for her. She got it open before he had a chance, but Vegeta heard her laugh and thank him for trying.

Jealousy hit him like he'd been shot again. He felt the texture of the blinds suddenly touch his fingers. Strong emotions always made it easier to manipulate objects. Good. He'd need hands to ring this loser's neck.

The front door opened and he heard the idiot speaking quickly and nervously. “Really, Bulma, I can't believe you live here. Shady Glen is kind of infamous in this town for being super haunted. No one I know would take the chance of renting here.”

She shrugged. “That kind of stuff doesn't bother me. You want a drink?”

“Wow, you must be brave,” the man laughed. “Sure Bulma, I'd love a drink.”

“Sure Bulma, I'd love a drink,” Vegeta mocked behind him, knowing they couldn't hear him.

Bulma pulled the rest of her bottle of wine out and set it on the counter, turning to grab two glasses from the cupboard. Vegeta took a deep breath, gathering his emotion into his hands, and then shoved the bottle off of the counter.

The other man jumped; he hadn't been looking, dammit. “What was that?”

“Oh, shoot,” Bulma shrugged, grabbing a towel. “I must have put it too close to the edge. It's okay, Yamcha. I think I must have had enough to drink at dinner if I'm breaking bottles.”

He laughed, glancing into her living room. “Do you have a roommate?”

“No. Why?”

“Your TV is on,” he said, pointing into the other room.

“Oh, that's me. I'm a little scatterbrained sometimes, I must have left it on this morning,” she shrugged. “Why don't we go in the living room and talk awhile?”

He nodded, following her, and Vegeta was close behind.

Yamcha flopped down on the couch too hard and Vegeta winced. “Don't break the fucking couch, asshole! You don't live here!” He snapped at him with useless words.

Yamcha smiled at her as she turned off the television and went to her stereo, starting up her playlist. Vegeta growled. The last thing this ridiculous farce needed was mood music.

Bulma curled up on the couch, thankfully at least a foot away from the idiot. “So, we were talking about your team?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yamcha smiled. “We've been doing pretty well this season. Tien and I were talking about my pitching techniques the other day...”

“Why are you  _ doing _ this?” Vegeta yelled ineffectually. “We don't need him! Bulma, this guy is a loser! How could you go on a date with someone like this? Hey, Jackass, get out! Get away from her! Get  _ out _ !”

Yamcha paused. “Did you hear something?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“I… I could have sworn I heard a voice.”

She laughed. “I think you're a little bit intimidated by the history of this place. Trust me, I've been here two years and I've never been afraid.”

Vegeta slammed his hand on the coffee table, and Yamcha jumped. “What was  _ that _ ?”

“Nothing,” Bulma said quickly. “Hey, I know your roommate is sleeping, but maybe we should go to your place anyway?”

Vegeta switched the stereo off and pushed the vase on top of it for good measure. It clattered to the ground and broke.

“Bulma, what's going on?” Yamcha asked, eyes wide.

“It's  _ nothing _ . Ignore him.”

“ _ Him _ ?”

“It. Your paranoia, I mean.”

He grabbed the paper and pencil that she always left on the table. He concentrated hard and scratched out:

YAMCHA OUT

That was the last straw for the superstitious baseball player. He didn't even pause to say goodnight. He got out of her apartment as fast as he could without blatantly running.

Bulma sighed as she closed the door behind him, and then spun around, addressing the air around her. “You utter  _ Jackass _ . What the  _ hell _ was that? Why would you be such a jerk?”

“Why would you bring a date into our apartment?” He shot back, knowing she couldn't hear him.

“And my mother's vase! You know I liked that one.”

“It was the only breakable thing nearby. I needed to get my point across.”

She grumbled at what she thought was his lack of response. “Fine, one for yes, two for no.”

He rolled his eyes. This system was ridiculous, but at least it was some communication.

“Do you want me to be happy, Vegeta?”

He paused. He hadn't expected that one. He stomped once on the floor.

“Do I have a right to live  _ my _ life the way I want to live it?”

One stomp.

“That's what I thought. So don't you think you owe me an apology?”

Two stomps.

She roared, heading into the bathroom to peel her dress off. He followed her. She knew.

“Look, we've talked about this.”

“ _ You _ have,” he protested.

“I can't stay stuck on a dead guy, Vegeta! Isn't that what you wrote in our notebook a couple nights ago?”

He covered his face. He had, but he thought it was last night. Maybe he was losing more time than he thought.

“I love you,” she spat. “Is that what you want to hear? I fucking do. But you're the one who said this can't work. You're the one who said it's not fair for me to have to stay at home all the time just because my boyfriend can't leave our apartment. You told me to go live, so Yamcha is me, living. What did you expect?”

What did he expect? That was a good question. He expected to feel less guilt. Seeing her stay inside with him every free minute of her day… it just wasn't healthy. He did want her to have a life, for both of them, but… he hadn't been thinking about that when he saw that  _ man _ near her. Talking, joking, thinking about touching his Bulma. He'd have done anything to get rid of him.

She stepped into the shower, still talking to him. “You have to decide, Vegeta. Decide if you want me or not, because I'm so sick of this bullshit.”

She was right. He stomped once.

“Yes I'm right or yes you want me?”

He stepped through the glass door into her shower, stepping behind her. Running water made it easier sometimes. He focused hard and reached forward, putting a hand on her waist.

She didn't jump, though he suspected his touch was cold. She was used to it. She sighed and placed her hand over her skin where she felt him, and he could feel some warmth from her palm. “Do you have the strength to speak tonight?”

He put his lips next to her ear, practically yelling. “Bulma?”

She waited, then shook her head. “Nothing. You must have used most of your energy scaring the pants off Yamcha.”

“Better than him charming the pants off you,” he muttered.

“I'm going to assume you said something about getting in my pants and just flip you off,” she announced, following through.

The steam fogged up the glass door and he reached out to draw on the glass.

TV.

“Yes, I left the TV off, and I didn't leave a newspaper out for you. I was pissed. Bite me. You broke my wine bottle and my vase, we're even. I'll… I'll leave them for you tomorrow. I'm sorry. I know how bored you get.”

He reached out drew a sloppy heart on the glass and she smiled, drawing one inside it.

“I know. But if we want this to work, you have to be sure. Don't freak out and tell me to move on again, or next time I'll just make sure I go to my date’s place instead. I'm horny as hell.”

He focused so hard that it gave him a headache, but he gently pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. He would keep training.

He had to get stronger.

For her.


End file.
